Control the Storm
by Catherine Grissom
Summary: In the end, we'll be tragically torn apart- If you can't control the storm. Collection of audio-inspired one-shots. Not songfics. Warnings, pairings, etc. inside.
1. Story 1: Ryuu

_**Control the Storm Collection**_  
**Story 1**

**_Title_**: **_Ryuu_**

_**Author**_: **_Catherine Grissom_**

_**Rating**_: **_T?_**

_**Summary**_:**_ I closed my eyes, Telling myself I didn't have to look at what I didn't want to..._**

_**A/N**_: _**This is the first in a series of 'audio inspired' one-shots. These are not songfics.I'm going to rate the collection as T for now, though it may go up. Each one-shot will be individually rated.**_

_**Warnings: Nothing too traumatizing I would hope.  
**_

_**Disclaimer**_: **_Sunrise and Bandai own Witch Hunter Robin. Tsukiko Amano owns 'Ryuu' from which this derives its name and summary. I am a poor college student. I don't even own Ramen._**

_**Inspired by Tsukiko Amano's song 'Ryuu'. **_

* * *

Staring at the ceiling, Robin decided that she did not like the way the shadows moved at night. Maybe it was the angle that the light entered the room, or perhaps there was wind outside, though she heard none, or possibly it was simply her imagination…

Whatever the reason, from the time her eyes had adjusted to the dark in the small hotel room, the shadows seemed to move with a sense of menace. What was something no more harmful than a tree branch suddenly became a hand, sliding in to the room, searching for a life to smother-

'It's just a tree.' Robin whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut, rolling onto her side, curling into herself. 'Only a tree. You're being silly.'

Robin forced her eyes open. There was a tree outside the window… Wasn't there? She couldn't remember, and, gripped by what was probably an irrational sense of terror, she did not want to look.

They'd had a close call in Prague a week ago. She was simply stressed. Tree or no tree.

Even Amon was stressed. Though one wouldn't have been able to tell now, listening to his deep, even breathing.

Maybe he would let her sleep in his bed…

'Stop being childish,' Robin reprimanded herself silently. 'He's asleep. It's three in the morning. Let him sleep.'

And he did need to sleep. He'd had a headache for God knew how long. He tried to hide it, but Robin had noticed him squeezing his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply before finally reopening his eyes slowly. He only did it when he was sure that she wouldn't see, when she'd excused herself to go to the restroom, or had busied herself with tidying whatever small room they were in. She'd first seen by accident: a child had scampered by her and, smiling, she'd turned back to watch the small boy only to find Amon looking almost helpless as he tried to will away a headache.

She'd begun watching him, cautious glances over her shoulder whenever she walked away from him. It had been three days since she'd first noticed and she was beginning to worry. She had considered giving him aspirin, but had quickly dismissed the idea. He'd likely already tried that. Even if he hadn't, he wouldn't like her pointing out that she'd noticed his weakness.

Robin nodded once, firmly. She would let him sleep. She was being silly. They were shadows. That was all.

Decisively, she rolled onto her back. Shadows, only shado- It still looked like a hand.

Her lip trembled and she clenched her jaw to still it.

The hand ('Shadow,' she reminded herself, 'shadow,') seemed to curl invitingly, beckoning her towards the window and her eyes widened.

That had been a trick of her mind. Right? Shadows didn't beckon.

As if to spite her, the shadow did it again.

A high, keening whimper pulled itself from her throat. Seconds later, she was standing by her warden's bedside.

"A-Amon?" her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling though she tried to stop it.

He 'hmm'ed once, not quite awake, but getting there. She felt horrible to wake him, knowing that, if he had felt entirely well, he would have been awake and alert the instant she'd moved.

She very nearly whispered a 'nevermind' and crawled back in her own bed, but before she could, he turned, tired eyes studying her. "Robin?" he asked, voice thick with sleep. "What do you need?"

Feeling very selfish, Robin found she couldn't push the words past her lips. Her mouth worked silently for a moment before another whimper emerged.

Amon's brow furrowed slightly and he held out a hand in invitation. "C'mere," he yawned.

Climbing into the bed, Robin found herself being pulled. Once she was resting against his side, Amon wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Robin settled into the embrace, feeling protected, but, at the same time, even worse for waking him.

All was quiet for a few moments and Robin glanced at the ceiling. The shadows didn't look half as threatening from here. Her mind had definitely been playing tricks on her.

"What's wrong?" His eyes were sleep-fogged, watching her. "Another nightmare?"

She wanted to take the excuse he provided, but found that she couldn't. "It's silly," she whispered.

He smiled slightly then, the hand that had been resting on her shoulder coming up to stroke her hair. "If it upset you, it isn't silly," he reassured. "Try to sleep."

He was nearly asleep again himself by the time he finished speaking. Moments later, Robin followed suit.

Morning came early. Too early, Robin decided. Surprisingly, when she woke, Amon was still in bed. His eyes were moving behind his eyelids, and she couldn't figure out whether he was awake and fighting off his headache or simply trying to cling to those last few moments of sleep.

Not willing to wake him again if he was sleeping, Robin found herself watching him. After a few moments, his eyes opened, clear but distant. His arm was still around her shoulder, perhaps a bit tightly. He turned, looking at her as though he had forgotten she was there.

Robin smiled, comfortingly. His headache must still be there. "Good morning," she murmured, beginning to extricate herself.

He blinked and, for an instant, his eyes seemed darker than usual. "Where're you going?" His normally tightly controlled voice almost seemed to shake, and, for a moment, Robin wondered which of them had been the one needing comfort.

"I'm only getting a shower," she explained, "and then maybe breakfast."

The headache had to be wearing down his defenses: he'd looked almost frightened when she'd implied that she was leaving, even momentarily.

"You can stay here and rest if you want," she said, feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. His skin felt clammy. "You look tired."

Amon pulled his gaze from her and his eyes began darting around the room. "I might do that," he said, noncommittal.

Robin watched him warily. She'd been on the run with him for over a year and had never seen him act like this. He looked nervous. More worryingly, he looked scared.

"Are you alright?"she asked, sitting up, studying his face.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. When he finally reopened his eyes, he looked calmer. "I-" he started, then paused. When he spoke again, his voice was small, "I'm tired."

The admission startled her and she nearly forgot how to speak. "Rest, then," she said finally, forcing the waver from her voice.

Amon nodded, settling into the bed again, throwing an arm over his eyes.

Robin swallowed hard. He looked…pitiful, like he was giving up. Biting her lip, she moved to the bathroom. She'd shower and then she'd get breakfast, fruit or something. She'd let him rest. He'd be better when she came back.

He had to be.

When she got back an hour and a half later, the room was darker. He must have pulled the curtains.

"Where were you?" He was still in bed. His voice seemed almost too restrained, like he was fighting to keep from screaming at her. There was an odd lilt to it.

"Breakfast, remember?" Robin kept her voice light.

She heard Amon suck in a breath and watched him carefully. His eyes were tightly closed and his left hand was clenching and opening, almost spasmodic.

Robin swallowed. "I- I brought back fruit," she offered, voice quavering slightly. "If you're up to eating-"

Amon's eyes snapped open and Robin hoped it was only the lack of light making them look black. "Liar," he hissed, pinning her with a furious glare. "You little liar."

"Amon?" The darkness of the room suddenly felt tangible, the shadows seeming almost alive.

"You went to them, didn't you?" The odd lilt was back in his voice, drawing out the vowels in his speech, adding an air of madness. "You went to turn me in."

She felt a caress on her cheek and ice ran down her spine. Her mind hadn't been playing tricks on her, wasn't playing tricks on her. He hadn't been fighting off a headache. He'd been fighting for control.

"Amon." She wasn't prepared to deal with this. "Amon, you don't believe that." He was just cranky. He wasn't Awakening. He just needed sleep.

"Don't I?" The caress at her cheek turned to a hand at her throat. The hand began to squeeze as he sneered, "I offer you protection, drop everything I've ever had for you, and you repay me by turning me in."

Finding her air slowly cut off, Robin tried to claw the hand away from her throat. Nothing was there, save for a brief shock of cold.

"Wonderful things, shadows," Amon chimed, sounding nearly cheery. "Powerful. Insubstantial. Darkness caused by light."

A terrified sob caught itself in her throat, and, for an instant, Amon's eyes went grey again and the hand loosened. Only for an instant, but it was enough.

"Amon, please," she half-sobbed, half-gasped. "_Please_."

His eyes darkened again, lip twisting, and then the hand was gone and Amon was curled on his side on the bed, clutching his head, shakily chanting some mantra.

Robin collapsed to her knees, sucking in air greedily. Heartbeat pounding in her ears, she tried to hear what Amon was saying. It took a few moments, but she was finally able to catch it.

"I am _human_. I will _not_ become a mindless beast. I am _human."_

Forcing herself to her feet, she made her way to his side. Perching delicately on the edge of the bed, she called his name quietly, jolting when he stiffened.

He didn't move for a while. Then he spoke, voice shaking but blessedly sane, "If I _ever_ attack you again," he trailed off, not quite able to voice what he wanted.

Swallowing, Robin forced her abused throat to work. "If I feel," she began slowly, "that you have truly lost yourself, I will do what is necessary." Her lip trembled and she felt a tear drip onto her chest. "Please don't ask more of me than that."

Amon let out a shuddering breath. "Thank you."

Over the next thirty-six hours, Robin prayed more than she could remember doing so ever before. Aloud, she didn't pray so much as plead. Begging grey eyes to 'Stay with me. Please stay with me. Please don't leave me.' And when those eyes turned black, 'Come back to me. Don't leave me. Come back to me.'

Drained, she smoothed his hair. Throat painfully dry, she made him drink when he was lucid enough not to choke. Face soaked with sweat or tears or some combination, she wiped his brow.

Finally, his hands gradually loosened the stranglehold they'd had on the sheets since she'd forgotten when. His ragged breathing began to even out, eyes slowing their frantic movements behind their lids.

Bone weary, Robin waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. Five minutes. His eyes remained closed.

Then his eyelids fluttered.

Voice nearly gone, she forced a cracked whisper past her lips, "Open your eyes."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he complied. Liquid gunmetal met emerald green.

Tears that she thought had dried up hours ago returned with a wave of relief. Nodding to herself, she brushed sweat-soaked strands behind his ears.

Amon watched her, curious, worried, silent.

Finally, she spoke again, smiling, "My beast."


	2. Interlude 1: The First Meme

**_Control the Storm Collection_  
Interlude 1**

_**Title: The First Meme  
**_

_**Author: Catherine Grissom**_

_**Rating: Keeping it at T**_

_**Summary: A meme I found and decided to do. It keeps with the spirit of the collection, so I included it.**_

_**Warnings: Non-explicit violence, implied sex.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Witch Hunter Robin. If I did, I'd definitely not have to write fanfiction. I do not own any of the music used to write this chapter. That belongs to the individual artists and songwriters. I do own legitimate copies of said music, however. Piracy is bad, kids. Mmmmkay?**_

**

* * *

Writing Meme**

1. Put your Winamp/i-Tunes/Windows Media Player on shuffle.  
2. Click next for the first challenge.  
3. Write a drabble of a pairing that suits the song title.  
4. You can only write the drabble until the song ends. When the song stops and changes to next song, you must stop writing and write another drabble that suits the new song.  
5. Do this for 6 songs, and good luck

**

* * *

Vengeance is Mine ~ Iced Earth**

They'd killed her. Hadn't even given a warning. She hadn't had a chance. Single shot. Through the heart.

He'd stared blankly as she fell, panicked when she hit the ground, wept bitterly when she'd gone. Now…Now he was simply angry. At them, at himself, he wasn't entirely sure.

Something cracked in his mind and he smiled. Finding an ally in the darkness beginning to escape, he reached out, searching, finding the one who had made the shot, and squeezed.

There was a faint scream and then silence.

He continued reaching.

**

* * *

Hakuna Matata ~ Disney's The Lion King**

Robin had never been a child. He wasn't really shocked. She'd grown up in a convent, been trained as a hunter. It was just…She was so childlike.

He'd started trying to give her a childhood. Or a facsimile of one. He'd bought her music, movies, gelato, whatever caught her eye and made her smile.

It helped. She smiled more. Even laughed now.

An unlikely trio of lion, meerkat, and warthog pranced across the screen and her eyes lit up. He smothered a smile.

**

* * *

Veteran of the Psychic Wars ~ Tarot (Blue Oyster Cult cover)  
**

It had been a long while since he'd been able to rest. It was wearing on him, he knew. He'd nearly collapsed in relief when they'd met someone who'd offered a temporary shelter. Robin had eyed him worriedly and he'd snapped at her.

She was still watching him, still worried. He didn't have the energy to snap at her again, simply continued the familiar routine of cleaning his gun, even though he hadn't needed to fire it in weeks.

"Things are going well," the small voice came from the bed. "The covens are willing to help us-" she paused. "And each other."

He said nothing, but willed his hands to stop shaking.

**

* * *

Reach Out for the Light ~ Avantasia**

"Robin is a witch," he'd said, almost in disbelief. She'd killed, yes, but only to defend. To protect.

Still, orders were orders. He parked in front of the abandoned warehouse.

Something didn't feel right.

She got out of the car, heading into the building, believing that she was going in to find and capture a witch. Everything was going according to plan. He made to head to his own position, then doubled back, retrieving a rifle and rune bullets before moving into the building, disabling cameras along the way.

Her breath sounded panicked over his earpiece and he called out to her, wondering if she knew, if she'd sensed. She was a bright girl, maybe she would figure it out. Maybe she would run. He could say he'd lost her then.

She didn't run. She followed his instructions to the letter, moving smoothly through the building.

He raised the rifle, looking through the scope. He could pull the trigger now. But that pillar. No. Too much cover for her. He moved and aimed again.

This wasn't right. She didn't deserve this. He adjusted his aim, a warning shot.

There. She had a fighting chance now. If she took it, if she didn't, it was on her now.

God, he hoped this was right.

**

* * *

World in My Eyes ~ Sonata Arctica (Depeche Mode cover)  
**

He was wrong in the head. Amon knew that. He accepted, even embraced it. Robin…Robin was light, serenity, gentleness….And very, very much NOT wrong in the head.

So it puzzled him as to why she'd allowed things to progress this way.

He was always the controlling one in their relationship, but she was the one who really had the power. He'd read somewhere that the submissives always were. The dominant could do whatever they wished, but the instant the submissive said no…The game was over.

She never said no, though, and that both worried and exhilarated him.

Curled comfortably against him, skin warm, heart rate finally coming down, Robin finally complained. She complained that she couldn't understand him sometimes. He replied, smiling, that she definitely did not want to.

**

* * *

Per Te ~ Josh Groban**

It hurt. Oh God, it hurt. Amon forced his eyes to stay open, reminding himself for the hundredth time that getting shot was a very bad idea and that he should stop doing it. His chest ached in reminder and he altered his admonishment to include having buildings fall on him.

Robin was flitting around worriedly, hovering over the shoulders of the doctors as they set his leg, bandaged his shoulder, wrapped his torso.

She was blending in with the darkness beginning to edge in on his vision and he turned his head slightly, ignoring the rapidfire rebukes that the doctors gave. He would be fine if he could keep his eyes on her.

He didn't know exactly how he knew that, but he did, so he kept her in his sight.

Finally, the doctors declared that they had done all they could, the rest was up to him.

Robin swallowed at that, turning weary, watery eyes to him, before finally perching delicately at his side. Her mouth moved silently and he watched her through eyes that were resisting his attempts to keep them open.

'Please, let him live,' she was mouthing. Over and over, like a mantra. 'Please, let him live.'

The pain lessened slightly. He chose to believe it was the morphine cocktail they'd given him.

Her mantra continued and he pushed a whisper past his lips in a language not his own, but hers, "Per te," he swallowed, then added _that_ to his list of things not to do in the near future. "Vivrò."

She smiled through tears and he felt the mask come down, lips curving upward slightly.

Damn morphine.

* * *

_**A/N:**** The first interlude is complete. Next up, one of three possibilites: Dirty by Hurt, Sancta Terra by Epica, or Pale by Within Temptation. See you, hopefully, soon.**_


	3. Story 2: Dirty

**_Control the Storm Collection  
_Story 2**

**_Title: Dirty_**

**_Author: Catherine Grissom_**

**_Rating: Still T._**

**_Summary: __Little girl, can you tell just who made you so very god damned holy?_**

**_Warnings: Nothing much. Amon gets a bit blasphemous, but it's Amon..._**

**_Disclaimer: I still don't own WHR. Sunrise and Bandai still do. Song is property of Hurt._**

**_Inspired by Hurt's 'Dirty'_**

* * *

Robin hummed. Amon couldn't quite decide whether it should bother him or not. On one hand, if she was humming, she wasn't asking him questions that he wouldn't, or couldn't, answer. On the other hand…

She only hummed hymns. While the Doxology might be soothing for her, for him it brought back memories he'd rather leave forgotten, picked at wounds that had scabbed over.

He'd practically been raised by SOLOMON following his mother's passing (a euphemism if there ever was one) which had meant that he'd learned the scriptures, the hymns. He'd been young then, naïve, willing to believe that what he was being trained to do was God's Will.

God's Will, man's will, it didn't matter anymore: he was a killer. He'd killed mothers, sons, sisters, uncles: whoever they'd told him needed to die. He didn't try to justify it as the will of some invisible, omniscient god.

SOLOMON had a way of twisting scriptures, he'd noticed. "Thou shalt not kill – unless it's a witch." "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live – unless they work for you, and even then, keep an eye out." It had bothered him once, long ago. Then he'd shrugged it off. Of course, their logic was flawed, man was flawed, _he_ was flawed.

Witches were dangerous, he'd seen that much with his own eyes. Sure, there were ones like Karasuma, ones who couldn't, or wouldn't, use their Craft to harm others. However, for every one like Karasuma, an untold number could, and would. SOLOMON monitored them. SOLOMON decided if they had become a danger. He took care of it.

'Ours not to reason why' and all that.

Until now.

Amon spared a glance at the small form to his left.

Robin was humming again, some piece of a Requiem that he could barely remember.

The order for her Hunt had come down from Headquarters, from Father Juliano himself. She had killed, he'd seen that himself, and had every capability to do it again. Not only that, she had, taking down the best Hunters SOLOMON could send. And yet…

He remembered the first time he'd killed, the split-second of revulsion, followed by a vague sense of relief, of _pride_.

He remembered the look on Karasuma's face when she'd first killed, an instant of uncertainty, then resolve. She'd done right by the organization, that was enough.

Sakaki, Doujima, they'd arrived after the switch to Orbo. They hadn't had to kill, simply incapacitate.

Robin, though…The youngest out of all of them and the one deemed most dangerous. There had been no uncertainty when she'd killed, but no relief either, and most certainly no pride. Cornello, Sastre, 'The Professor', Masuda Shirou, all of them had died by her Craft. Any one of them should have been enough for him to kill her. Should have been, but weren't.

He'd told her that it had been Juliano's letter that had caused him to help her, to interfere. In a way, he hadn't lied: the letter had persuaded him to interfere with what he'd believed to be Headquarters' attack on her. It wasn't entirely a lie, but it also wasn't entirely the truth.

Robin had wept. It was as simple as that. In killing Masuda, she had not only followed orders, but saved his life. She'd had every right to feel proud, or at the very least justified, and yet she'd wept.

Robin wasn't a Witch to him. Robin might never _be_ a Witch to him. How could he put a bullet in her heart when half the time he felt he should be asking her for forgiveness, for absolution?

Amon closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them, resolved. He would protect the woman-child beside him. Her sins would become his own. He was damned already: he accepted it. Robin, though… Robin would stay pure: the sole saint of his own personal religion.

Who knew, maybe one day he would finally complete his penance.


	4. Story 3: Will Someone Ever?

_**Control the Storm Collection  
**_**Story 3**

_**Title: Will Someone Ever Look at Me That Way?**_

**_Author: Catherine Grissom_**

**_Rating: Still T._**

**_Summary: _**_****__I thought that I knew ev'ry single, Look and sweet expression on his face, Yet this is one that I don't recognize…_

**_Warnings: Mention of sex. SLIGHT ToukoxAmon and AmonxRobin.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I still don't own WHR. Sunrise and Bandai still do. Song is property of whoever wrote Yentl.  
_**

_****__A/N: This story takes place entirely in the first 10 episodes. Explicit references to episodes: 4, 5, and 10. If you don't believe me about Robin's kicked puppy look, check episode 6. This was written late at night because I'm an idiot who hasn't figured out that foreign horror movies at two in the morning are very bad things. Make of that what you will. _

**_Inspired by Audra McDonald's rendition of 'Will Someone Ever Look at Me That Way?' from Yentl._**

* * *

Touko had known Amon for a long time. Longer, she was willing to bet, than even his coworkers. Of course, she still didn't know the man's full name, but something told her that there was only one living person who did, and he wouldn't be telling anyone anytime soon.

Touko wasn't sure how she would have classified their relationship. It wasn't love, though she had wished that at some point it could have grown to that. It wasn't lust, though occasionally, in weaker moments, it was a factor. It wasn't really a friendship: they turned to each other simply because they didn't know who else there was to turn to.

She would admit that, late at night, when he had stayed long enough to hold her as she slept, she felt protected, safe in a way that not even her father's presence had ever caused her to feel. He was so…She hesitated to use the word 'wholehearted'…Perhaps 'dedicated' was better. Dedicated to his work, to the organization, to what he felt was his purpose, or rather the only purpose that he allowed himself, and sometimes, when he allowed himself the time to breathe, to her.

Amon was an attentive lover, an attentive listener, though he'd deny it. He always seemed to know when she was upset, often he even knew why. She was startled to find that somewhere along the way she'd gained similar insight into him.

She'd first noticed at Harry's one night, having overheard whispers of "Too close. She's getting too close," from her father and sighs of "She's getting dangerous," from her- from Amon. He'd been sitting at the bar, as per usual, drink in front of him, as per usual, casting only sparse glances her way, as per usual. His posture had been guarded, face closed off: entirely what she'd expected. She'd made some lame attempt at conversation - she couldn't even recall what now - and he'd _looked_ at her, and she'd had to swallow around a sudden lump in her throat. Something in his eyes was _screaming_.

A week later, he'd appeared at her door, disheveled and bleeding. She'd panicked at first, ushering him into the living room, telling him to wait, just a moment, she'd be back, she just had to find the first aid kit and then she'd be back, just wait, just for a moment…

He'd cut off her ramblings with an authoritative "Touko, stop," and, cowed, she'd sat next to him. Amon hadn't said a word after that; hadn't needed to.

There was no playful roughhousing, as there was when they'd had maybe a bit too much to drink. There was no dominating power game, as there was when he'd had a rough day, or week, or however long. In fact, there hadn't actually been sex of any kind, and yet…Touko could say with all honesty that that night, a night where she'd simply held him, whispered nothings into his hair as he pressed his face into her neck and tried to reassure himself that he could still feel _something_, that he hadn't lost himself behind the mask, was the most intimate that they'd ever shared.

There had been no more whispers, no more sighs about that mysterious, dangerous, too close 'she'.

Touko learned to read everything in his eyes: annoyance at her choice of restaurant, frustration at a case, worry over his younger coworkers. The last one had become more frequent, especially in recent weeks.

However, along with the worry, and frustration, and annoyance, there was something new. Touko didn't bother trying to fool herself that it had nothing to do with her new roommate. It had everything to do with the girl. There was amusement as he told of Robin's stubborn insistence that there was _nothing_ _wrong_ with her eyes, a hint of pride as he relayed details of Robin's little adventure in a park, even a touch of wonder as he spoke of Robin calming another hunter during an attack.

Touko supposed jealousy would have been the proper response, but…After seeing her roommate come home for the umpteenth time looking utterly defeated, she wondered if it would be so bad for Amon to let his guard down around the girl. At least then she'd be spared the kicked puppy look Robin was so very proficient at.

But Amon wouldn't. He couldn't, not while he was still...carrying on whatever relationship it was that they shared. And so, Touko found he became more guarded around her, pulling away the instant he found himself revealing anything.

So, really, she wasn't surprised to hear his voice on the other end of the line. She wasn't surprised to hear that he was ending it.

"Do you think you'll be able to tell her, now?" she asked, honestly curious.

She wasn't surprised to hear a terse, "Nothing to tell," before a dial tone.

Closing her own phone, Touko stared at it for a moment. Her vision rippled and she closed her eyes, ignoring the moisture that fell from them. Nodding, she rose to put a kettle on: tea before bed would be lovely.

No, she wasn't surprised at all, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.


	5. Story 4: Sing For MeBeside You

_**Control the Storm Collection  
**_**Story 4  
**

_**Title: Sing For Me/ Beside You  
**_

**_Author: Catherine Grissom_**

**_Rating: Still T._**

**_Summary: __I need you to sing, Sing for me my love, Sing the right from wrong…  
And if your heart wears thin, I will hold you up, And I will hide you when it gets too much…_**__

**_Warnings: Not nice happenings. But a bit of fluff.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I still don't own WHR. Sunrise and Bandai still do. Songs belong to Tarja Turunen and Marianas Trench, respectively.  
_**

_****__A/N: First off, I'd like to state, if I haven't already, that the oneshots in this collection are unconnected. So Amon hasn't awakened and he doesn't have whatever complex he had in Dirty...Or at least not as much of one. I wasn't going to write anything combining two songs, but these two meshed perfectly and out this popped. Both songs are amazing in their own right, though vastly different in craft and genre, and I'd recommend both, as with any of the music I've used. Hmm...Perhaps I should make a fanmix...  
_

**_Inspired by Tarja Turunen's 'Sing For Me' and Marianas Trench's 'Beside You'._**

* * *

She hadn't used her Craft in six days. They'd been here, a moderately-sized town in Finland, for five. Snowbound for two.

Amon, almost as if sensing the oncoming storm, had spent the first two days of their stay stockpiling groceries and splitting wood. Robin was fairly certain that the woodpile against the main room's back wall would outlast the storm, even if it were stubborn enough to hang around through the spring.

By contrast, Robin felt that she'd been nearly useless. She'd spent most of the days puttering around the small house, straightening rooms and pictures, keeping vigil over a single candle. This last was what drew her from her room now.

It was just turning to evening, or so she figured: she'd long since lost track of the time-zone and glances out the windows showed only slivers of an unnervingly pink-orange sky in gaps in the blinding white.

A fire crackled in the hearth, weakening slightly, but not weak enough to require additional fuel. Amon looked up at her as she entered the living room, pulling his attention from a worn, second-hand copy of _The Historian_. He'd claimed the living room as his own, choosing to sleep on the couch, saying that someone needed to keep an eye on the fire.

"Did you sleep at all?" His voice was low, as though he were worried that she'd flee if he spoke too loudly.

She considered answering truthfully, but settled for the less telling answer of "Some."

They'd been dancing on eggshells around each other since they'd been forced to flee London. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Amon had been on eggshells around her. She had very nearly closed down entirely…

Pushing everything from her mind, Robin approached the small table in the corner of the room. The small candle was no longer burning, melted wax having smothered the flame sometime during her absence. Next to it was another, waiting to be lit.

Amon was still watching her, she could feel it, probably wondering if she'd finally forgo the match this time. Kneeling in front of the table, she opened the small box, withdrawing a match and striking it before holding it to the untouched wick. Behind her, she heard a page turn.

Focusing on the small flame in front of her, Robin tried to pray. The Nicene Creed. The Our Father. A Hail Mary. None would come, only a litany of names.

_David. Anna. Toby. Joe. Katherine. Stephen. Lizzy. Liam. Terry. Tristan. Mac. Geilie. _

And then, a single word.

_Dead._

A heavy, shuddering breath pushed itself past her lips and her eyes closed against the burning that would have signaled tears if she'd had any left.

They'd laughingly called themselves a coven, joking that they finally had their thirteenth, teasing that now one would have to leave. 'Fourteen's just too many. Everyone knows that.'

Their Crafts had been untrained, but that had suited them fine: they weren't looking to fight any grand wars. They had each other, a family.

Katherine, the de facto mother of the group, had welcomed the pair of rain-soaked travelers with open arms and a bright smile, calling Robin the most pathetic little kitten she'd ever seen, warning David to keep his hands off.

Mac, burly and aged and a complete sweetheart, had offered cherry cordials and easy conversation. The man had an amazing knowledge of everything from music to firearms and could transition from one to the next almost too quickly to follow.

Mismatched as they were, the group fit. Everyone had their 'job', which ranged from taking care of nearly everyone else to simply being happy. Everyone watched out for the elders, Katherine and Mac (who insisted that he did _not _need watching out for, thank you, he got around just fine), and the young ones, Tristan and Anna both of whom were barely Robin's age.

Another page turned.

Robin couldn't remember ever seeing her warden so…_relaxed_ as he'd been in the five weeks they'd been in the company of the ragtag family. Amon had been caught up in good-natured 'arguments' with Liam (which could go on for hours as both men would switch sides to keep the debate going), being the unofficial moderator for Toby and Lizzy (who weren't siblings, but could bicker like it), being dragged to the market or the kitchen by Geilie (who had been all too eager to pick his brains about Japanese cuisine), and putting up with Stephen's hero-worship (which didn't seem to have any cause other than Amon's 'aura of cool' as the young man had put it). She even thought she'd seen a real smile from him when Joe and Terry had announced their engagement.

Would he blame her? He had warned her that London wasn't entirely safe, that SOLOMON was still active there. She hadn't listened, too enamored with the idea of being surrounded by friends, of having a family. She hadn't even realized the very real danger she'd placed the group in until Geilie, seized by one of her infrequent precognitive visions, had dropped the platter that had held dinner.

The redhead had turned so pale that her freckles had nearly vanished before turning startlingly blue eyes to the newest additions, speaking only one word, "Run."

Amon had been the first to react, followed quickly by Katherine, who'd murmured, "The attic," before heading to the stairs. Amon'd had to turn back, to call out to her, before she'd been able to move. He'd pushed her ahead of him, sidestepping up the stairs, wanting to be ready for whatever could come through the door.

Nothing had, at least until they were in the attic, shoved into a hidden room behind a nearly invisible door, given instructions to find the exit hidden equally well in the back wall, told to run and keep running. Then, and only then, did the front door fly open with a bang. They'd heard Katherine gasp through the wall before her footsteps retreated.

The gunfire had started by the time they found the back exit. 'A drug raid,' the papers had reported.

She hadn't needed to read the SOLOMON –approved body count to know that none of the coven, the family, her _friends_, had made it.

Her hand flew to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle a whimper. Too many. Too many lost. She couldn't do this anymore. What was the point?

Suddenly and unsteadily, she forced herself to her feet, staggering away from the makeshift shrine. Air. She needed air. She couldn't breathe.

Whirling around, nearly falling, Robin found herself confronted with a familiar grey wall.

She wanted to push away, to head back into the room that served as her sanctuary, to say that she was fine, just _fine_. Instead, she could only choke out, "I killed them," and wasn't even able to put up a token protest when the wall enfolded her and pulled her close.

"I killed them," the choked statement turned to a sob, then to as much of a wail as she'd ever made. "I killed them. I killed them."

The wall said nothing: walls seldom did.

A near-hysterical laugh tore from her throat and the wall collapsed with her as her quaking knees finally gave out. Then, the wall moved, gently rocking her, smoothing her hair as she sobbed.

Robin didn't know how long she cried; she was willing to bet that Amon didn't either. All she knew was that, when she was finally able to calm her sobs to mere hiccups, his sweater was soaked and the fire was in desperate need of fuel.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she whispered, cursing the childish catches in her breath. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing."

Amon's hand stilled, holding her head to his chest with a gentleness that seemed almost impossible. He was quiet, though, and she almost thought he was going to chide her for being silly and stupid when he spoke.

"Katherine was right," he said simply and she pulled back to look at him quizzically. "You act like all you want is a place to be alone, somewhere to lick your wounds in peace, but you're more desperate for attention, _approval_, than you've ever been." He looked down at her then and the ghost of a smile lingered on his features. "You really are the most pathetic little kitten…"

Amon took her face in his hands, thumbs running across her cheeks, wiping away still-flowing tears, forcing her to hold his gaze. "I need you to listen to me: you did not kill them-"

And then she was trying to wrench away from him, protesting.

He held firm. "You did _not_ kill them."

"But they _died_ because of me," she spat, almost angry that he'd dismiss her guilt. "I as good as pulled the trigger."

"They died _for _you," he corrected, still infuriatingly gentle. "To protect you."

"And I was too selfish to help them," she concluded.

"If you'd gone back, you would have died."

"Then I _should_ have died!" she cried, unsure of whether to pull away from him or fall into him and so she did neither.

He wasn't supposed to look at her like that. He was supposed to be angry, to spit out a "Fine, then," and leave her to her own devices. He wasn't supposed to look as if he _understood._

"That's _exactly_ why they chose to die rather than give you up," he gave her a lopsided smile that looked completely out of place on his features. "Now," his grip tightened slightly on her face, just enough that she couldn't turn away without concentrated effort. "I need you to listen to me, and I need you not to interrupt.

"It is not your fault that they chose to protect you. It is not your fault that _I_ chose to protect you. Or that I was shot. Or that the others were shot. Or that Toudou was killed. Or that your mother died.

"_None_ of that is your fault, and you need to stop blaming yourself for it. We all chose this. Not because you're some all-powerful Eve that could smite us if we put a toe out of line-"

She let out a watery giggle, but he continued.

"- but because you're _you. _You're _Robin._ Because you feel, you bleed, you cry- And if you need to stop for a while and just _be you_, that's fine. We can stop. But right now, you need to eat and you need to sleep, alright? And then you can swear holy vengeance, or demand a vacation, or decide to quit."

His right hand moved to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear and she realized that his hands were shaking. She swallowed and, not trusting her voice, nodded.

Amon let a heavy breath out through his nose and pulled her to her feet and towards the kitchen. Robin followed silently, ate silently, and then retired to her room with a promise to at least _try_ to sleep.

Two hours later, she was back in the living room. The fire was crackling comfortingly and Amon was stretched out on the couch with an arm over his eyes. He'd left the bookmark, a receipt that had happened to be handy when he'd started reading, out of the book, and she almost moved to put it back in its place before she realized that she had no idea where that place was.

"Couldn't sleep?" his eyes were still covered, but there was the barest trace of a smile on his lips.

Robin opened her mouth to ask how he'd known she was there and he cut her off. "You fidget," his voice was gruff, but the smile grew a bit. "A lot, actually. You might as well come lie down; you're noisy when you try to stand still."

The couch was narrow, but soon enough, she found herself squeezed comfortably in between the back of it and the front of her warden (he insisted that he needed to be on the outside, just in case the fire needed tending) with his chin resting on the top of her head.

For a few moments, the only sound was the fire. Then-

"That was quite a speech," came the whisper.

"Don't be expecting more," he spoke into her hair, unconsciously (she chose to believe it was so, because why would he do it consciously?) pressing feather-light kisses into her crown. "I think I used up my year's quota on that."

Robin let out a quiet laugh, then said conversationally, "You left your bookmark out."

He gave what passed for a dismissive snort. "I know well enough what's going on."

She swallowed. Then, voice shaking, but clear, she informed him, "You never answered my question."

Amon was silent for a long while and she was very nearly asleep before she heard a very quiet "It wasn't my place to." An arm wound its way across her shoulders and pulled her closer, and a kiss that could not have been inadvertent was pressed to her forehead.

Robin was asleep before she could think more of it.

* * *

**_ A/N 2: Things are about to get very hectic in my neck of the woods, so I'll post as much as I can before I go completely insane, but it may not be with anything resembling regularity._**


	6. Interlude 2: Note and Meme the Second

_**Control the Storm Collection  
**_**Interlude 2  
**

_**Title: Note and Meme the Second  
**_

**_Author: Catherine Grissom_**

**_Rating: Still T._**

**_Summary: __Quick note because I've been a bad child and a quick meme._**

**_Warnings: ....If you pick up anything objectionable, either I'm being too obvious or you're too perceptive._**

**_Disclaimer: I still don't own WHR. Sunrise and Bandai still do. Audio belongs to various people.  
_**

_****__A/N: Ok. I've kinda dropped off the face of the earth and that is completely my fault. I'm in the process of moving back to Arizona to continue school. I feel bad for not giving much of a heads-up, so I figured I'd let you see what I'm working on._

* * *

**Rules of the Meme: Post one line (should be sentence, but I'm more lenient) from each piece you're working on. Simple enough, ne? **

**Artists are listed below snippet titles.**

**

* * *

Sancta Terra  
**_Epica_

'Gobel Babelin', one of the so very few names to have survived the Wurzburg Witch Hunt. She had insisted it survive.

**  
Summers Lost  
**_Hurt_

Nagira chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Did you really think that you were the only one who called?"

**  
I'm Alive  
**_Disturbed_

Juliano saw him as heartless, manipulative. That was fine; he didn't need to live.

**  
The Pendulous Fall  
**_Kamelot_

The ceremonial dagger was a comfort. He'd allowed his daughter to become corrupted. He would set it right.

**  
Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums  
**_A Perfect Circle_

"And if you were to awaken?" the carefully crafted sneer had no effect on the boy before him. "What then?"

**  
Anthem  
**_Kamelot_

He was going to be a father. It hadn't quite sunk in yet. _Him_, a _father_.

**  
Destination Departure  
**_Tristania_

"Thanks," he murmured. Then, louder. "So, what do you think about Seville for our next little vacation?"

**  
Lover Dearest  
**_Marianas Trench_

"If that's all that you can offer," Robin began again, sounding more confident. "Then I love hearing it."

**  
Comes the Inquisitor  
**_Babylon 5: Episode 2.21  
_

"But what if _they _are right and _you _are wrong?" Marcus taunted, finding a peculiar joy in the way her eyes widened. "What if this grand destiny is no more than a farce?"

**  
For the Heart I Once Had  
**_Nightwish_

A melody came flowing out, sweet, innocent... The shopkeeper gave him a speculative look, but said nothing.

**  
Up Through The Ashes  
**_Kamelot  
_

This time, Pilate wasn't entirely certain that letting Barabbas go was the wrong choice.

**  
Womanizer  
**_Britney Spears  
_

Her boss was smoking more, Mika noted. Perhaps one of his plethora of lovers had caught onto his game. Good. Her soaps had been boring lately.

* * *

_**A/N2: Some of these are very near complete...Some of these are what you see here and nothing more. At any rate, consider this an apology for being AWOL.  
**_


	7. Story 5: Destination Departure

_**Control the Storm Collection  
**_**Story 4  
**

_**Title: Destination Departure  
**_

**_Author: Catherine Grissom_**

**_Rating: Still T. Though we might be beginning to push M.  
_**

**_Summary: At your most beautiful...Who's going to end it if you cannot make it stop? Can you hang on for today?_**

**_Warnings: This is so very not a happy piece.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I still don't own WHR. Sunrise and Bandai still do. Song belongs to Tristania  
_**

_****__A/N: I've been AWOL for a while, and I apologize. I'm also evil, as this piece might show, and I apologize. But I think I might post something more lighthearted separately, so watch out for that. Also, for those of you without a German dictionary, built in or not, 'Seien Sie vorsichtig' roughly translates to 'Take care' and 'Arzt' translates to 'doctor'. Or at least that's what my own, admittedly rusty, grasp of German seems to remember.  
_

**_Inspired by Tristania's 'Destination Departure'.  
_**

* * *

He recognized the street: a small avenue in Berlin that housed a tiny but welcoming restaurant where they'd spent many evenings. Cheerful chimes of "Seien Sie vorsichtig!" followed them out and Robin's Italian-accented German laughed back a response.

An elderly voice called out "Und du!" and he felt himself turn. "Feed her!" the grandmotherly woman continued. "Still too skinny!"

He felt an eyebrow raise and heard Robin giggle beside him. The old woman made a shooing gesture and he nodded, guiding his charge out the door.

As they walked back to the apartment, he stole a glance at Robin. She was dressed in jeans and a simple white peasant blouse, her hair was down, and she was smiling. Not one of those secretive, half-smiles that she had when she was peaceful. Not one of the almost-smirks that appeared when she was feeling mischievous either.

Robin was beaming. Combined with the last rays of sunlight glinting off of her hair and skin, it made her look radiant.

He could say, with certainty but never out loud, that she had never looked more beautiful.

Suddenly, she turned to him, dwindling golden rays turning into a halo behind her, and he struggled to look like he hadn't been staring.

"We can stay another week, right?" she asked, although it was more of a statement.

He caught himself nodding and quickly voiced, "But only one more. We should have left already."

Robin's smile dimmed slightly and she said, "I know. Just because there hasn't been an attack doesn't mean there aren't hunters."

He found himself wanting to say something, anything, to bring that smile back to full force, but before he could find the words, she was speaking again.

"So, where are we going next?"

He swallowed. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I was thinking about Tuscany."

And just like that, the beam was back, and the running, the organization didn't matter.

"Really?" near-childish delight colored her voice.

He felt his face settle into a sort of half-smile. "Really."

Robin sprinted out in front of him, spinning around to face him, walking backwards with every bit of confidence she'd had walking forwards. "Home?" she asked, catching his gaze and holding it.

"You shouldn't do that," he chided half-seriously. "You could walk off a cliff."

She laughed then, stubbornly continuing her reverse-walk.

"Yes, ho-"

A loud crack cut off his smiling answer and he saw Robin's eyes widen. He opened his mouth to reassure her, to say that it had probably been a car backfiring, when she bent her head awkwardly to stare at her stomach. Red was beginning to spread and his reassurance died on his lips.

She looked back to him, eyes growing unfocused. "A-" and then she collapsed.

He didn't register that he was moving, only that he was crouched next to her an instant later. "Robin," he called and her head turned to him.

Blood. So much blood. _Too_ much blood.

He swallowed, forced himself to look at the wound. "That's not so bad," he choked out. "You'll be fine."

'Liar,' her lips, almost smiling again, formed the word, but no sound escaped.

Sound. Crack. Gunshot. Where was the second one? Why only one? Why just her?

Why the hell wasn't he screaming for help?

Robin's eyes began to flutter closed.

"No!" he growled, grasping her shoulders, shaking her. "You're not going to die here. I need you to stay with me."

Her eyes stubbornly remained closed, but her lips opened. 'Run.'

"I'm. Not. Leaving." Any sniper worth his salt would have picked him off by now. If he wasn't dead yet, he wasn't going to be.

A rabble of voices pricked his ears. Right. Berlin. Big city. Of course there'd be people.

One voice, probably trying to be calming, was muttering something about "Arzt".

He paid the other man no mind. "Robin," he shook her once more. Her eyelids fluttered, barely. "Robin, stay with me."

Again, she spoke with no sound. 'Sorry.' And then she was still.

Amon woke suddenly. Breathing heavily, he looked around.

Not Berlin. Not Tuscany. Not Tallinn. Helsinki.

"Robin," he managed and was surprised to hear a quiet "Kitchen," in response. Rising, he followed the voice.

Robin was seated at the kitchen's island, staring idly at the paper, as though debating whether it was worth trying to read. As he entered, she turned to him.

"Feeling better?"

Amon nodded and she turned back to the paper. "Good. You didn't look well earlier."

A dream. Of course it had been a damn dream. He should have known, he'd had that one often enough.

He might have considered the dream prophetic if it hadn't started _after_ they'd left Berlin.

"There's coffee," Robin's voice continued. "Though it's cold now. And breakfast." She gestured to the counter by the small stove. Sure enough, there was a plate of food.

Retrieving the plate, he sat across from her.

Robin quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're in my way."

He mirrored her expression.

"I was watching the birds. It looks lovely outside and they've been singing."

Amon studied her for a moment and she placidly stared back. "We could go for a walk, later," he offered.

She looked skeptical. "I figured we'd need to leave."

"We do," he confirmed. "But a walk won't hurt."

Robin beamed at him and for an instant the dream came back. "Really?"

Swallowing, he nodded once.

Her quiet, musical laugh filled the air and she slid off the stool and nearly danced to her room. "I'll get ready. You call Nagira."

Minutes later, Amon had finished his small breakfast and washed and put away his plate and silverware, noting appreciatively that Robin must have done the same with her own.

Deciding that he'd need the caffeine if he was to deal with his energetic brother, he ventured to try the coffee. Cold. Stale. Robin obviously hadn't made it. Pouring the cup back into the pot, he left the kitchen, moving to his own room, gathering the maps and files that would help to decide the next destination.

Organizing the information took far too little time and Amon was all too quickly hearing the ringing on the line.

"Kenichi Nagira Law Offices," the bored, tinny female voice answered.

"I need to speak to your boss," he said, wondering if the secretary would finally recognize his voice.

"About what case?" Apparently not.

"Tell him it's Case Number Twenty-Five-Fifteen."

Amon heard the woman sigh and then, distantly, heard her relate the information to someone else. Moments later there was a click.

"Well, I was wondering when you'd call, ya annoying bastard."

"Good afternoon to you, too."

"Afternoon?" his brother laughed. "You really are screwed up. I was just about to go home!"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Amon sighed. "And you put in such _long_ hours."

"Was that sarcasm? Is my baby brother in a good mood?"

"I could kill you and no one would ever know."

"You're good," Nagira admitted. "But not even you could manage that shot."

Pulling the phone from his ear, Amon idly wondered if it might be possible to strangle the older man over the line. Technology _was_ evolving rapidly.

"Ya there?"

Replacing the phone at his ear, he gave a weary, "I'm here."

"Good, for a minute there, I thought you might be trying to find some way to kill me over the phone."

'You have no idea,' Amon mouthed, pushing a hand through his hair.

"Anyway, you didn't call to play catch-up. What did you need?"

"Thinking of booking another trip," he began conversationally. "Just wanted some advice."

"Getting cold there?"

Amon hummed noncommittally. "It might warm up soon."

"And you'd want to be gone before that happened," he could almost hear the smirk in his brother's voice. "Damn Ice King, you are."

"So send me to Siberia," he nearly snarled. "I bet I could make _that _shot."

"Well," Nagira exhaled and he could almost see the stream of tobacco smoke. "There goes that idea."

"I'm sure you have others."

"Oh, definitely. But now I've got to reorganize everything. Can't have you sniping me, now can I?"

"Nagira," that time Amon did snarl.

"Alright, alright. Don't get snippy. Let's see…" and then all that could be heard was rustling pages and half-muttered locations. "Here we go," Nagira chimed after a few moments.

As Nagira was chattering about places to go next, Robin entered the room, silent in a way that only she could manage, and set down a pot of fresh coffee. One of Nagira's words caught his ear and Amon looked up at her, smiling, mood suddenly lightened.

"Thanks," he murmured. Then, louder. "So, what do you think about Seville for our next little vacation?"

Nagira went completely silent. Robin met his eyes and smiled.

"I go where you go," came the whisper.

"Who are you talking to?" Nagira's voice was thick, as though caught on something.

"I'm just clearing it with Robin," he let out a slight laugh. And Amon had thought _he_ was paranoid.

Nagira said nothing.

"You didn't think I'd make her up and move without at least telling her where, did you?"

A shuddering breath came over the line and Robin's eyes turned panicked.

"Otouto," the normally boisterous voice was suddenly so very small. "Robin's _gone._"

And suddenly she was. The coffee was cold.

He didn't hear the phone clatter to the floor.


	8. Story 6: Lover Dearest

_**Control the Storm Collection**_  
**Story 6**

**_Title_**: _**Lover Dearest**_

_**Author**_: **_Catherine Grissom_**

_**Rating**_: **_T?_**

_**Summary**_: **_Sometimes I wish you would leave me…_**

_**A/N**_:_** I'm going to apologize right now for first off, not updating in forever, and secondly, being insanely cruel when I do. If I promise to try to write something at least a bit happy, will you call off the mob?****  
**_

_**Warnings: Things don't go very well here.  
**_

_**Disclaimer**_: **_Sunrise and Bandai own Witch Hunter Robin. Marianas Trench owns 'Lover Dearest' and there's a line from A Perfect Getaway in here. Blame them._**

_**Inspired by Marianas Trench's song 'Lover Dearest'.  


* * *

**_

Old habits die hard. "Gochisoosamadeshita," he intoned, a wry half-smirk twisting his lip.

Lifting the plate from in front of him, Robin returned the smirk with a small grin of her own. "You're welcome," she said, mock-serious. She turned and headed into the kitchen.

Picking up the glassware, Amon followed. She had just put the dishes into the sink when she turned, saw him, and her grin grew to a grateful smile.

True to routine, after she placed the glasses next to the evening's plates, she turned, rose onto her toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

True to routine, he didn't let her leave it at that.

Moments later, Robin pulled back, a small, sated smile on her face. "I love you," she murmured.

He opened his mouth to repeat the words, but what came out was a very, very quiet, "I don't," and his eyes widened. "I don't know if I can," his traitorous lips allowed.

Her smile was forced now, brittle. Tears glistened in her eyes, but refused to fall, and he hated himself for it.

More than that, though, Amon hated that she hadn't looked surprised.

Silence, once companionable, now heavy, hung in the room. Robin's lip quivered suddenly and she bit it, let out a shaking breath, closed her eyes. The last action caused twin tears to make their way down her cheeks.

Instinctively, Amon reached to brush them away, then recoiled the instant he realized what he was doing.

"O-Oh," Robin breathed, opening her eyes, keeping them downcast, sounding terribly small and vulnerable. "I- I should- I-"

She gave up on talking then, brushing past him, heading towards the bedroom, leaving the kitchen. Leaving him. Good. If she was smart, she would.

Abruptly, he found himself speaking again, "But-"

Robin paused, tilted and turned her head slightly, and waited: listening, but not looking at him.

His mouth worked silently for a moment and Amon watched as, with every second, the woman before him withdrew into herself, looked more and more like a lost, hurt child.

Finally, just when he sensed that she was about to complete her retreat, the words came. "But I'm in love with the idea of loving you."

He watched her profile as her eyes closed again briefly. She sniffled quietly, and then opened her mouth.

"If that's all that you can offer-" her voice cracked.

_Then I'm leaving. _Amon wished she would say it. _I'm leaving and I'm going to find someone who can love me._ He wanted, needed to hear her say it.

"If that's all that you can offer," Robin began again, sounding more confident. "Then I love hearing it."

She gave a miniscule nod and continued her walk.

Amon didn't move. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to push her away. Wanted to shake her, scream at her, demand that she _open her eyes _and leave before he managed to break her. Wanted to pull her close, breathe in her scent, tell her that he was sorry, so sorry. Instead, all he could manage was a breathless whisper of her name as the door separating them clicked closed.

A sob broke through the quiet in the apartment, and he found himself at the door to the bedroom: unable to pull back and leave her, but at the same time, unable to enter the room and comfort her.

Amon pressed a hand to the door and rested his forehead against the wood. He should leave. _She_ should leave.

He couldn't leave. He couldn't stand the thought of her leaving.

He was still at the door when Robin's sobs turned to whimpers and then, finally, to silence.


	9. Story 7: Possession

_**Control the Storm Collection**_  
**Story 7**

**_Title_**: _**Possession**_

_**Author**_: **_Catherine Grissom_**

_**Rating**_: **_Hard T? M, maybe..._**

_**Summary**_: **_I would be the one to hold you down, kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away..._**

_**A/N**_:_**Yeah, you remember forever ago when I posted and said I'd try to post something happier? I kinda fibbed. Sorry. This takes place sometime before episode 11****  
**_

_**Warnings: University burnout leads to a disturbing Amon.  
**_

_**Disclaimer**_: **_Sunrise and Bandai own Witch Hunter Robin. Sarah McLachlan technically owns 'Possession', but the version is Evans Blue's more masculine, violent cover._**

_**Inspired by Evans Blue's cover of 'Possession'.**_

* * *

He watched her. Robin didn't know it and she'd have been shocked to find out. Everyone had a vice. She was his.

He was addicted to her: her graceful movements, her bright eyes, her gentle voice. He wondered: how loud would her voice be, how clouded would her eyes be, how erratic would her movements be as she writhed beneath him. He could imagine it, hear it, _feel_it and the imagining was so deliciously sinful that it made him want her all the more.

He would have her. He would possess her and she would submit willingly. She wanted him, he knew, and so she would submit.

That thought kept him from feeling any jealousy when she would return to the office for late-night coffee-and-donuts bonding sessions with that boy. Then again, it was hard to feel threatened when he knew that Michael's affection was simply that of one left too long with only a computer monitor for comfort.

The boy wouldn't have her, couldn't have her. Michael didn't know her. Michael didn't know that Robin could sing. She had a wonderfully melancholic mezzo. Michael also didn't know that Robin couldn't cook. Everything she ate was bagged, boxed, or frozen. Michael definitely did not know that Robin had her own vices. She was addicted to espresso, and if left to her own devices, she'd sleep all day.

Amon had been particularly pleased to note that the girl slept nude.

In fact, the silly boy probably thought that Robin prayed every day because she was a good little Catholic girl. _He_knew better, knew that it was only habit that took her feet to the tiny church by the park each day.

Robin wasn't a saint. There were seeds of corruption. God, it would be fun to see them bloom. It filled his mind. _She _filled his mind.

If he could suck it from her lungs, would the air taste sweeter? If it were against her pale skin, would the vital red be more vivid?

She'd put up a token protest, but he knew that she would give in. He knew that she wanted him.

He watched Robin glide about the room. Michael's mug was empty. Away it went. Moments later, Robin was back. Two mugs, one so sweet as to rot teeth, the other harsh and bitter. The first went to Michael and the boy smiled, more grateful for the attention than the drink.

She was at his shoulder now. Amon shifted subtly, just enough to block access to his area of the desk, just to test her. A small huff of frustration came from behind him and he ignored it. After a few moments, she moved to the edge of his desk, slightly in front and to the left of him.

"Coffee," she said and set the mug down.

He allowed no sign that he'd heard. Instead, he watched delicate fingers caress heated ceramic from the cover of a file.

"Amon."

'Hidden one.' His mother's flair for antiquity and the dramatic. He'd always hated the name. But when she said it- mixed supplication and bedroom sigh-

He wanted to hear it moaned. Screamed.

He would have to move quickly, though. If she lost herself before he could have her…He wasn't sure what he'd do. She would lose herself; he knew it. They all did, eventually. Kate had. His own mother had. Soon, so would his little bird.

How though? Would she gradually slip away, as Kate had? Or would she simply not recognize him one day, as it had been with his mother? He hadn't known how to deal with it then. He knew well now.

He'd watched as they forgot themselves. He'd seen them lash out because of it. There was no way to bring them back once they'd crossed that line. So the duty fell to him to ensure that they wouldn't go farther. He hadn't been able to take care of his mother. Kate had died cursing his name.

She would have thanked him if she'd seen what she would have become.

Robin- would she curse him when the time came? Somehow he didn't think so. Robin would accept it. Robin would recognize that she was dangerous. _Robin_might even thank him. She was like that. She endured without complaint. Wonderfully submissive. It would almost be a shame to lose her.

But maybe-

Maybe he didn't have to lose her. She could be submissive, loyal only to him. If she belonged to him, if she was his, she couldn't leave him.

But there was that temper, that spark that he'd seen flare up in her. It frightened him. That spark, that temper would be what pulled her from him, what would pull her from herself.

No. He would have to quash it.

* * *

**_A/N2: So, um, yeah. I'll try not to be so all-fired slow in updating. I've got a couple pieces handwritten that should be up relatively quick. As always, please review, even if it's just to yell at me. _**


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